Ça Me Nerve

These are the things that were originally culturally shocking that I now just find annoying (and that probably will not change). For a couple of these topics, I was actually going to write individual blogs but I realized that would probably make me look like I am unhappy and frustrated here… everyday. I’m not everyday but if these things would change it would be a lot easier.

A different understanding of politeness
“I heard if you call someone impolite here they will throw you out of village.”
“That can’t be true, as many impolite things they do.”
“I know but it’s true. Don’t ever say that word.”
And I haven’t. But I want to…daily.
Take the 16 year old that’s in my family here. Her daily routine is to walk across my porch and sing at the highest volume at 6am. While stomping. And it isn’t complete unless she also leaves her peanut shells on the porch. Do you think she realizes I am not up and out yet? Probably. Do you think she will offer to sweep up the shells seeing there is a broom right behind her? Absolutely not. Does she or anyone else in her family see this as impolite? Never. Her father will toss shells over his shoulder as he talks to me, not even thinking of it. Everyone sees my porch as a main route to the other homes, even people I’ve never seen before. What do I do? Breathe. I’m always given instructions on how to do things the right way. I wonder what would happen if I started doing the same.

Chickens
Cock-a-doodle-doo! “You have got to be kidding me, I’m trying to nap.” I open my eyes to see a rooster standing next to me on my porch. “Osh, osh, osh.” I say trying to shoo him off. He just moves to another corner and cocks again. Cock-a-doodle-doo! I jump up and chase him off my porch. Five minutes later a hen has appeared. Oh look and her “teenage” children are here too. I jump up and chase them off my porch. Ten minutes later they are all back. And this is how I spend my afternoon nap times. “Karla, it’s best if you just put dirt over their pooh.” Umm, actually I think it would be best if you would keep them off my porch. I asked for a gate to block the entrances to my porch but things don’t happen especially fast here. So I’m stuck chasing birds.

Donne-Moi… Donne-Moi
Give me your bottle. Give me your bike. Give me money. Buy me a motorcycle. Buy me a car. Buy some sheep and I’ll watch them for you until you leave… What? What am I going to do with sheep? And why on Earth would I buy you all these things if I don’t have them myself. Oh I forgot because I am the rich American, of course. So because you think I am buying things with dollars, I am eager to buy things for you all. I use the cfa just like you. No matter how many times I explain I’m a volunteer with Peace Corps, that I don’t make a lot of money, that I left my dollars in America, no no no I’m still rich. And how can I blame them for thinking this way. All of the health supply and food aid donations come from America. The clothes we donate in the States are cold for 20 cents. American pen pals send children clothes and toys. Is it bad? Should it be stopped? No not at all. “Oh people in my village just imagine I’m oozing with so much money I don’t know what to do with myself” said a fellow volunteer. I guess I just need to accept my wealth.

Marry Me?
“He said he wants you to marry him… she said no… why not? I’ll tell you why not. What do you do? She doesn’t want to marry a farmer.” I sigh and begin to walk away. I end up greeting another man from village I know (I visited his wife when she was sick). “He says he wants to marry you.” I say NO! jump on my bike and peddle home as fast as I can. Why is this common practice? I’ve never even seen that first guy before. I was once told after a proposal from my bus driver that women here do not refuse. After I explained that I’m not from here, the interest grew even more. Why do men here ask me to marry them? 1) They want me to sleep with them. 2) They want my money. I wish there were other reasons, but most of the time they don’t even know me. During training we were warned by female volunteers that it’s apart of life here and we would find a way to deal with it. I’ve found a way to respond but still can’t really deal. Ca me nerve.

My Playground
I remember after a month in village I wrote a nice blog about kids here being independent. Naive. Their independence also means they don’t have discipline. They push my door, turn and turn and turn in my swivel chairs, try to break my bike…. Ahh! Five year olds. One day I was so frustrated, I left and went whining to my friend who in turn took me on a walk and to the city the next day to cool down (I must have been really upset). Now they don’t visit as much, the children. But Idrissa, my 8 year old “brother”, he is wild. My “Allloooo!” and “Eye y ey “ don’t work on him like it does the other kids. I guess I should appreciate it because it means he like hanging out with me (before he would not come near me) but goodness.

Vous etes invites?
I may just be the rudest person in Burkina. Maybe even in all of Africa, but I learned early on the polite gesture of inviting others to join me in a meal doesn’t have the same response as when other Burkinabé do it. “Okay!” My eyes widen in horrors as 4 teenage boys made their way to my “Cup of Noodles” (this is food from the states). I quickly learned that my playground may turn into a restaurant. There would be at least 6 people asking for food. I could not do this. Because my empathy level was so high, I would always give and have little left for me. I don’t know how but now they know. I won’t invite, my one friend is the only one who is allowed meals daily (he has a complicated story that does not include food often.) Even with him I can’t feed him every meal. And now I will just eat, with people watching (they are not starving, they just want my meal to help supplement theirs.) When they ask for invitations I ask them where is mine?

Other than that never being considered black (my father has to be Caucasian), being told what to do and the way men treat women all get on my nerves. But I have to stop complaining.